


How to Survive your Psych Family

by Grigiocuore



Series: Tough Dads [2]
Category: Psych
Genre: Childhood, Family Drama, Multi, Parenthood, Shawn and Carlton as uncles, Snarky Remarks, Some Fluff, Strong Juliet, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigiocuore/pseuds/Grigiocuore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can you survive with a workaholic detective Mom, a super-sniffer Dad and a couple of loving, crazy uncles? Tim and Mina Guster seem to manage pretty well. A series of one-shots about love, parenthood, burning tonsils and family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Probably Weird, Never Disarmed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Here we are with a series of tiny one-shots about the Guster kids and their strange, loving, psych-o enlarged family: so cheesy, I know, but I'm sure some of you long for good fuzzy feelings as much as me. Beware, the couples would be Shassie and Gules, so I threw canon out of the window. I'm working also on the story about Jules and Gus' son's birth (you really thought it would be all simple and normal? Ah, such dreamers!), but I prefer preparing some chapters before publishing. There would be a lot of Hurt/Comfort, but basically it would be a study of Carlton and Juliet's friendship, as to say, one of the most touching links I've ever seen in a TV show. For now, I hope you'll enjoy these little slices of life.  
> And yes, I called him Tim exactly for the reason you're thinking about.

**Probably Weird, Never Disarmed**

Tim Guster knew there was something weird in his family; not creepy-weird like Uncle Shawn's Halloween costumes, but more a easy, cheery weird like Dad's chocolate-bacon cookies. For example, the fact that was Daddy doing almost all the cooking. Yes, Mom could prepare a real face of fruit on the muesli, with banana slices as eyes and all the rest, but it's Dad who cooked dinner and set up his lunch box for the school. Mom could do a lot of awesome things, but cooking was _not_ one of them. The Thanksgiving turkey was proof of it. 

And that was another strange thing; many kids at school had a cop parent, but Tim had a cop Mom: it was Dad who put them to bed when she hadn't come home yet, and sprang on his feet when a police car stopped in front of home. She was a detective, the one that “beats up the bad guys”, as Uncle Shawn said, and this was cool because his friends gasped every time she arrived at school with the handcuffs; but it made him angry when they asked if she put him in prison per punishment. They didn't understand that she was also the best Mom in the world: they didn't understand how sweet she was when helping him with homework, or that she was the one who bought them the jelly bears after the doc and gave them the Fear Festival tickets as soon as the posters arrived in city. They didn't understand that she had a wardrobe full of pointy shoes and fluffy stuff just like their moms, and that his dad too took a zillion of photos on his first day of school. 

His parents did everything parents were supposed to do; only, they did it in their way. 

-But that's strange.- Bobby Anderson objected at the canteen, freckled cheeks full of mashed potatoes. -There are girl things and boy things, everyone knows that. My mom said that those gender confusions are what is wrecking California.- 

Tim furrowed his brow, not stopping eating his muffin. -My Mom catches bad guys, my Dad...well, he fixes everything and makes people feel better; to me California seems just fine.- 

-It's not what I mean.- Bobby squirmed, clearly in a tight spot. Tim smirked, _Nobody messes with the Gusters._

-I just, I just said that it's not _how_ it works.- 

-But it _works_.- 

Bobby squinted, frantically looking for a snarky remark. One second, two, and a triumphant smile split his lips. -Well, what about your uncles?- he snarled, looking around for support. -You know, they really are _odd_.- A choir of not-compromising comments rose around the table. 

Meanwhile, Bobby had kept using that big mouth of his. -...I mean, they're two men: it can't be normal, or at least my dad said so.- 

Tim swallowed pensively his bite, thinking about the two men he knew from the first day of his life. They were _definitively_ odd: he was pretty sure no other uncle in his school did B-movie Marathons with Uncle Shawn's passion, or owned a collection of fake mustaches like Uncle Carlton; and he was pretty sure no other uncle lived with, or kissed, another man. But for him, it was just how the world worked, one of the things that kept Tim's world spinning in the proper way: if his uncles wouldn't bicker and kiss and laugh anymore, well, something would be really wrong. 

He talked a lot about them, but mostly about the pranks Uncle Shawn tried on his Dad or the afternoons he and Uncle Carl spent playing Civil War; what they were together was just one of those things you saw so many times you didn't notice it, and at the same time should always be here. Part of life. 

And like most of weird things, it felt perfectly _right_. 

Tim put down his dessert, considering his options. He could try to gently persuade Bobby and then, if not working, scare him to hell, just like his mom; or dazzled him with some gruesome Scientific discovers, as his father would do; or listen to Uncle Shawn and finally reveal that _yeah_ , he knew Bobby wet the bed up to seven. 

But in the end, he opted for Uncle Carlton's advise. _Mess up with the suspect and retire with style._

Tim got up, picking up his tray. 

-Yeah, you may be right, Bobby.- He leaned forward, wolfish grin on his lips. 

-But one of my uncles wears a _gun_.- 


	2. Not (entirely) like a Cartoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus and Shawn. Great detectives, idiots, real cartoons. Fathers. Wait, I've missed something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Second chap of my Family stories! Sorry for the delay, but I'm working on (too) many projects at the same time. Anyhow, a little thing about Gus becoming a dad. A buddy-to-buddy talk everyone should have. Let me know if you want something like that for Lassie and Jules too._
> 
> _Thanks for the support, as always._

**Not (entirely) like a Cartoon**

The first thing Shawn did when he became an uncle, was to buy a popsicle. Not for him but for the father, of course. 

-There- he pushed the azure snack under Gus's nose. -To restore your strenght.- 

-It's not me the one that did all the work, Shawn. And _I'm_ fine. Perfectly fine.- 

Shawn rolled his eyes. His best friend had stopped breathing by Jules's first scream, and was currently hugging his plastic chair like the world's destiny depended on it. With the shirt buttoned in the wrong order and the eyes bulging out, he seemed a mix between the Shining kid and a very miserable refugee. -Yeah, you're fresh as a lily. C'mon, take the popsicle.- 

His best friend grabbed it greedily, and Shawn sat beside him. A large first grade-like smile blossomed on Gus's face. -Oh, it has sprinkle cute.- 

-Of course man.- 

They licked their snacks in silence, pretending that nothing had happened in the previous hour and that they really felt like grown people. The maternity ward was nice, a blur of creamy-colored walls, sturdy nurses in pink scrubs and blow-ups of due-eyed cartoon pups. Comforting, if not for the terrible screams resounding behind the doors. 

-Where is Lassie?- 

-Talking with the nurses again, or playing the Unflappable Guy in some other ways.- 

They snorted, bumping fists without even looking. 

Gus took a deep breath. -I can't believe it.- 

-That the nurse who flirted with me looked like Gerald Butler? Very disturbing, considering she was a woman.- 

-No.- Gus was too freaked out to appreciate his humor. -That we are _here,_ like _that_. I mean, I'm going to have a baby, we got a loan, we are married.- 

-Technically I'm not married, I have a life partner.- 

-And technically you're an idiot. What I'm saying is, we are adults now. We are real persons. Not cartoons.- 

Shawn stopped, his tongue mid-air to the popsicle. 

-Yeah.- he said quietly. -Yeah.- 

Gus began gesticulating. -And I was thinking, Am-am I ready to do it? I've prepared everything, really, I even called the most exclusive kindergarten of Santa Barbara to be ahead from the start, _and stop looking at me like that, Shawn_. But having kids means so much more: it means giving them advice about the girls, being loving but stern when they got their first punch, understanding when they're ready to get up and go on with their own legs. It means being the leader, the “Father”. I'm a pharmaceutical rep that spends his days snooping around with his best friend and eats marshmellows at breakfast. Gosh, I _cry_ watching Grey's Anatomy. How, how can I do it? How can I be the “Father”?- 

Gus turned to him, and Shawn instantly knew how serious he was. After more than thirty years of shared life you might not grasp the other's soul by his meaningful gaze, but sure you learnt how to read his face. So he saw the worry, the fear, the crushing love for Jules and the squirming slimy demon she had just pushed out. The things he didn't say aloud. 

Shawn gave him a smile too old and too real to be charming. 

-First of all, Christina's farewell has been a terrible blow for us all, so crying for Grey's Anatomy is just human. And second, man- he offered. -you're _more_ than ready; simply because it's what you do the best. You get worry for your friends and give them thorny advices and annoy them to no end, exactly like a good parent should do. Gus, you've been my dad for all this life and half of the precendent. You have listened to _all my crap_ ; you've kept me from falling two-thousand times, with the bike and without.- 

He shrugged. -You've always been a Dad; and this is so much better than to be a Father.- 

They let the words sink in. Another scream from the room twenty-one. 

-Are you...are you serious? I'll do it good? - Gus stared at him tentatively, hope flickering in his eyes. - It won't be a crazy foolish rush like always?- 

- _Of course_ it would be, buddy; it would be the wackiest, dumbest, wildest adventure of our whole life.- He affectionately patted Gus's knee. -And as always, we won't regret a single moment.- 

-Even if we're not cartoons?- 

Shawn snickered. -C'mon, we'll _always_ be cartoons.- 

Gus nodded, finally letting go the poor chair. Someone was barking orders down the corridor, probably, by the “ fallen comrade” reference, Lassie himself, but the ward was quiet. They didn't talk further; they didn't need to. 

Until a question popped in his mind. 

-Shawn, in a cartoon family, which character would we be?- 

Shawn leaned back, thoughtfully crossing his ankles. -Well, that's easy: Jules the Super Mom with control issues; I the Strange but Super-Cool Uncle that cover up for your kids after the curfew...- 


	3. Tim Guster and the IKEA Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bricolage could degenerate in nuclear war, when it comes to two detectives and a Billy bookshelf. Tim Guster knows what to do, luckily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I watched again Juliet Takes a Luvvah, and seeing Jules freaking out about a bricolage moment this idea just popped out from my head. Heavily inspired by Real Life experiences. I sincerely apologize to Sweden and Swedish people, but it's not me. It's the characters' fault._
> 
> _Basically, fluffy (sort of) Bromance between my dearest detectives. Beware, next chap will be pretty tough._

**Tim Guster and the IKEA Conspiracy**

Back to the beginning, it had seemed a pretty simple plan. Mom had to go to the Ikea, she found the perfect bookshelf, they found Uncle Carlton seeking a blower after Uncle Shawn used it to shoot water balloons. She asked nicely if he could help her, he answered nicely that he would. It was a Billy, the easiest friendliest furniture ever. Practically foolproof. They would be done in a moment. 

It had _not_ been a moment. 

-O'Hara, read it again. Slowly, this time.- 

-Carlton, we've done it a zillion times. It's not like reading it well would magically put the damn screw in place.- 

-You don't articulate well the words, this is the problem. _Articulate_ , for God's sake.- 

-It's not a poem, it's a stupid instruction book.- 

Tim sighed, shacking his head. His mother and his uncle, _yes, the ones who could look a murderer in the eye and rimontare a gun in less than ten seconds_ , were currently crouched on the living room's carpet, surrounded by poor wood relics like shipwrecked and looking pretty much as distraught. From the moment they opened the packaging they had in order: babbled about the simple joys of bricolage, read the English instructions, not understood a word, drunken three tons of coffee, tried the Hindi version, blamed the other and the world and everything from the dawn of time on. Now they were soaked with sweat and looked on the edge of tears, or of murder. 

_Or both, knowing them._

-Ah, you guys wanna something to drink?- Tim asked tentatively. _Retreat now, now NOW._

Their eyes shot toward him, gleaming with feverish fervor. -No- they grumbled together. 

-Ah, uh, okay. Sure you don't need a han...- 

They leapt over the mess of Swedish brilliance, like they should defend an harmless child from a particularly wicked serial killer. - _No!_ \- 

-O, okay.- Tim repeated, slower. He exchanged a glance with Mina, nodded, and saw her stealthily saunter along the corridor. Out of earshot. 

-Okay, okay O'Hara, I get it, _I get it_. We were putting the A thing in the C stuff while fastening the K doodad, but it was wrong, because what we should do is putting the C stuff in the K doodad while turning the A thing. See, see, it's working, it's _working_.- 

-Carlton, the K doodad doesn't exist.- 

Uncle Carl let out a sound between a locomotive and a dying seal. 

He afflosciarsi on the carpet, followed almost immediately by Mom, staring at the ceiling with the contemplative despair of a fallen hero. Tim checked his watch, sighing. How was he going to explain Erin why he was so late for their date? 

Meanwhile, the definitively-not-factotum detectives hadn't moved. His uncle took a dramatic breath, carefully. -It's physically impossible that two great detectives, two skilled, experienced professionists with our curriculum are unable to built a damn bookshelf. Physically impossible and morally unacceptable. So there is just one option left.- He sprang up suddenly, one vein pulsing so hard Tim really feared the stroke. -A conspiracy.- 

_Oh my._

Mom beamed. -Yes, _of course_ , a conspiracy. It's not possible to built this thing because they don't want it to be built, they want us to get _crazy_.- 

-And invade us afterwards. You know Sweden was a Nazi alley in World War II?- 

-Little grubby Swedish. And their cookies are _so_ good they have to be suspect.- 

-You're starting to understand, O'Hara, you're starting to understand. But we have caught them. They won't ever spread mayhem again, not with us around.- 

-I'll get a warrant for tomorrow, we'll call the SWAT. We'll bring them down.- 

-And we'll take all the cookies.- 

At the cookie part Tim started to get alarmed. Luckily, his sister heels clacked back along the corridor. Mina stopped beside him, the cell in one hand and the pink-lipsticked lips parted in a perfect disconcerted “O”. Poor kid didn't remember the fridge ordeal of 2015. 

He crossed his arms. 

-Have you made the call?- 

-Yeah. Uncle Buzz would be here in ten minutes.- 

After all, sometimes all you can do is calling backup. 


End file.
